The Traveller

Do you like travelling?

The call of the mountains

They stretch out to the sky
And call…call out to the wild.
Tall, towering, majestic,
Rising above all that is scenic
They call…they lure,
All those who feel their pulses race
Every time they see mountains grace
The far flung horizon.
Their being fills with elation.
Rarified air, clean, pure.
Some are green
And some, white and pristine.
The mountains call…call out to me
As if they are a part of my being
Inviting me, inviting me to fly,
Fly from the peak to the sky…
A little fleck in the infinite.